


Who the hell is Bucky?

by zutitango



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 13:23:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1430071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zutitango/pseuds/zutitango
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memories come with a price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who the hell is Bucky?

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: wiintersoldat  
> http://wiintersoldat.tumblr.com/

A man without a name and yet there was one person, who after all these years, that person had said a single word to him as if in recognition. _Bucky_. Those blue eyes, so full of a long lost compassion that rushed to the surface. It was an expression that the _Winter Soldier_ had not witnessed between those in his way before. Someone, who he immediately took for as being an honest person, had _recognized_ him! _Who the hell is Bucky?_ His thoughts wondered as he made his way back to the underground labs for debriefing.

This question floated among his mind for several long minutes. Minutes that seemed to stretch out for seventy years, the processes of being frozen and unfrozen had managed to scrape away what little memory he had. Not to mention the devices they used upon his skull in order to keep it that way. The only memories he could keep, were forced ones of weaponry memorization and tactical planning, or escape routines. Even those were partially wiped with each bolt rippling through his skull.

Not yet needing a wipe in a few days, he was still able to cling onto this self-awareness. A flower blooming in the dark of night as the moon shone through the branches, which is what he felt this was like – a night flower seasoning to grow - as some memories of an unknown past were flooding into his system. Seeing the face of that same man, but as if he were in a different time altogether. Gunfire and smiles were all around him, but those soft blue eyes always had his back.

Sitting down as he fought with his inner mind, trying to figure out if it was a reality and not just accumulated fantasies over several years of multiple assassinations and the huge trauma that causes to one’s soul. Pressing a hand up to his face, his _real_ hand, not the metallic replacement of his former limb. Then lets out a low sigh as the scientists began to repair the damage done to said metal arm, those thoughts still striking through his mind – and in an outburst of confusion and rage he struck at the nearest person. Sending that scientist flying back, with tools leaving their grasps as they yelled in fright.

This had sent everyone in the room into a frenzy, but the soldier did not care. He was starting to become so overwhelm with emotion. Even after the senator came in to ask him questions, there was one that pervading his voice more so than answer the debriefing session. “That man… on the bridge… I…” Gulping and fighting back as hard as he could, not wishing for the tears that were welling in his eyes. “I.. knew him!... He called to me… He _knew_ me…”

This displeased the senator greatly, and he gave the order to have his memory wiped for they needed him to do other purposes. Wanting to cry out and scream, to demand questions and kill everyone in the room who lied to his face on this matter, but he did not. Too overly wound up with the rising memories, all of them hitting hard to his heart that he thought froze over all of this time. No amount of training, physical or mental, could have ever prepared him for the knowledge of wanting to know who he really is.

Taking the bit in his mouth that was provided, he accepted his fate, and knowing that whatever these emotional-inducing needs were – they would be lost to him forever as the next wave of a mission would soon be given… After this part ended, of course. Feeling the straps come out of the chair to hold his arms down, and then the final piece of equipment against his face in the proper places for frontal and middle lobes of the brain. The scream that etched through his throat was the clear signal that the electricity was now coursing through and cooking him alive. The last sight he saw before passing into forgetfulness, was of those soft blue eyes filled with worry.


End file.
